


We're Dead Stars Too

by sugarby



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dialogue Heavy, Friendship/Love, M/M, No Spoilers, Small Talk, college demon hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-22 19:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: "Of course." Nero leans his head back with a sigh. He should've known; it's just like V to take his sweet, artistic time, be it in a taunting performance to the demons he slashes, or something as simple as this: leaving a positive mark like 'best wishes' and 'get well soon' on a casted arm. It's sweet, absolutely. But Nero could break his other arm and have it heal before V makes up his mind. "C'mon, V, just draw a dick on me like any best friend would and be done with it."(OR Nero's stuck in hospital with a broken arm and V visits him).





	We're Dead Stars Too

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [We're Dead Stars Too](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680845) by [FantikBantik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantikBantik/pseuds/FantikBantik)



> I was just walking home from the store when this idea came out of nowhere. Officer, I’m _innocent_!
> 
> *Title is from _'Dead Stars'_ by Ada Limon.

"Am I dead?” Nero blinks, leaving the lightest of slumbers and awakening to the blur of slenderness and black. It stands out sharply in contrast to the colourless scheme of the room. The darkest shade is usually worn in gothic aestheticism or to honour the dearly departed, and with his jacked up idea of luck, he won't completely dismiss the latter.

"Not yet. You're lucky."

Nero considers that V, in fact, wouldn't make a  _terrible_ associate for death. His good-natured heart aside, he's got the fashion tailored for it already and, as deep as his voice is, there's an undeniable peace to it that would ease the departed souls he'd lead between planes of existence. Luckily, V's as human as they come on the inside, and that makes for a much better friend than any life collector.

There's a _chance_ he's influenced by the anaesthesia coursing through.

Were it anyone else in an uneven fight, they'd be worse off. Maybe dead. But not Nero, with his high aptitude for tasting trouble, his love for the thrills of danger, and reputation for kicking assess and taking names.

V leaves his cane by the door and comes to stand near the end of the bed. A hand rests on top, "So, how is the patient today?"

"Bored, and my arm's stiff as fuck." Nero means to roll his right shoulder to start with but stops to wince at the pain that reminds him of his injury. He doesn't understand it, really. He's hurt himself far worse before and in numerous places—the perks of his life being ~~un~~ balanced between college and demon hunting. "Don't know why they've got me stuck in here. It's just a broken arm."

"Precaution. To ensure you don't worsen your injury."

"Yeah, Kid." In an obvious tone, Griffon, V's feathered, demonic companion inputs, perched under the open window closest to Nero on the other side of the room. Of course, he's never far from his summoner. "No good putting yourself completely out of commission. You're making our poor V here sick with worry."

"I'm not the only one." V walks forward to the bedside table bestowed with assorted flowers in vases and the accompanying small bear holding a heart with 'Get well soon' stitched in. He lifts the card to read to signature of the fiancee, no less sick with worry than he.

"I know, I know," Nero groans, expecting to hear what he's heard before, "What's she doing with a punk like me, right?"

"On the contrary," V sets the card down and gives the bear a few blessing pats, "I kind of see it."

"Uh, wanna fill me in on that?"

"'Love that never told can be, for the gentle wind does move silently, invisibly.'"

“And just like that, I’m sorry I asked."

"In other words," Griffon says, "None of ya business. Ain't that right, V?" It's not an exact translation so much as it's a form of loyally keeping the secret, which earns an appreciative smile from his summoner.

"Whatever. Anyway, now you’re here,” Nero pulls from out of his sling a black marker and passes it over to V.

V turns it between fingers.

Nero chuckles, "It's a sharpie, _genius_." Breaking his arm and being restricted to a hospital bed automatically calls for being doted on, mandatory lectures on the  _obvious_  ways not to get himself killed (fuck you, Dante), and several heartfelt signatures from loved ones. "Come write something."

It's a simple request that V takes time with, thinking and continuing his play with the marker, tapping it against the bedazzled bands around his wrist.

"You can literally write 'hi', I don't give a fu—"

"No, it has to be perfect." V says, focus never straying from Nero's cast.

"Of course." Nero leans his head back with a sigh. He should've known; it's just like V to take his sweet, artistic time, be it in a taunting performance to the demons he slashes, or something as simple as this: leaving a positive mark like 'best wishes' and 'get well soon' on a casted arm. It's sweet, absolutely. But Nero could break his other arm and have it heal before V makes up his mind. "C'mon, V, just draw a dick on me like any best friend would and be done with it."

Griffon cackles, “I’ll do it.” And makes a dive for the marker.

"Alright." V's hand moves aside and Griffon hurls ahead in to the wall. Coming forward a couple steps, he gently supports Nero's casted arm held out to him, and with the other writes in pretty cursive in a long path to where the plaster ends to exposed fingers. His breath is stilled, mindful of slipping and ruining the neatness. Long seconds pass quietly.

Nero hitches his head up, peeking, "You, uh, writing a novel there?"

V exhales a chuckle, then pulls back and caps the marker, done. He watches Nero try and decipher the connection of black curls—the unnecessarily and annoyingly pretty penmanship of a literature student.

"It's okay, sound it out." Griffon jeers.

Nero glares but it's painfully true he's not getting anywhere. To V, with a desperate look, he says, "Okay, I'll bite. The hell's it say?"

"To summarise...you're a survivor, and you'll survive much more. And you can be more than what you are right now." A line from a reflective poem about two youngsters doing something mundane and looking up to the sky with ambitions as bright as the stars whose names they've forgotten. 

"Fuck yeah, I can!" Nero jams a fist to his chest and cheers. "Those demon's aren't gonna know what's hit 'em!"

"Speaking of which, you're usually capable of fending them off."

"And _you're_ usually quicker to react. You were standing there, _being all Dr Seuss_ , while one was sneaking up on you. I thought you'd notice but..." He shrugs, knowing no other way to put it but bluntly.

"I see." It makes sense to V. Normally, nothing can touch Nero—on that, the latter can be obnoxiously confident about. "I'm sorry, Nero..." he sighs, tugs back hair falling across his skeptic stare. "But you think I read _Dr Seuss_?"

" _Not—_ " Nero, tongue in cheek for a moment, hurls a pillow at him, "The point, damn it!" then clicks his tongue when V easily ducks. "Fuck, if I didn't dive for it, you would've been toast!"

V places the pillow at the end of the bed, smoothing out it's creases, "So your injury...is inadvertently my doing."

"It's nothing."

"Humans don't wind up in hospital beds for _nothing_." V lashes back, but the string is misplaced, unfamiliarly but understandably frustrated with himself. No blame will be passed over to Griffon or his panther familiar, Shadow, back home because their tactics are done by his orchestration. He'd failed to act this time. "It seems I'm indebted to you."

"That's not why I brought it—"

"I know but I'm partially to blame."  
  
"Guilty conscience, huh?" Nero sighs and shuffles along. He pats the empty space beside him, "Get comfortable, V.” For reference, he raises his broken arm that'll take time to heal. “You're in this for the long haul." He waits for V to settle in, noticing how his slender figure doesn't take up even half of the space, and how he positions himself with one leg fancily over the over and his hands together on his stomach. "Okay, so what have I missed?"

"As we discussed, I've taken care of your jobs. Although, Nico... _aggressively_ expresses her despair over not having you to test her latest inventions. So much she's been insisting she customize my cane."

"That maniac." Nero can't say he can't believer her though. She would try to nab and make a weapon out of anything if it looks good enough, and the cane is more than a weight support, moonlighting as V's executing weapon. Yeah, Nico sure gets carried away, but she's a brilliant badass and she makes a great partner.

"Dante's financial status remains as pitiful as ever."

" _Shocker_."

V smiles. When he last saw Dante, he'd only just managed to pay for electricity. "He sends his condolences, and cautions you not to be so 'reckless'".

"Oh yeah? Tell him he's welcome to break his arm in solidarity then!"

"I'll pass on the message."

"How are things with you?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?" Nero guesses demons aren't so keen on fucking with pretty boys then. Not that he himself is unattractive, but V's got this bewitching charm to him. A distinctive, sharper pull than what guys like Nero work with. "Usually you're the one stuck in here."

"Indeed." V glances to his cane at the doorway. For some time, he's been unable to walk without aid, stumbling and coughing and fighting to breathe after long periods of activity. But he's managing, it seems like. "It makes for a nice change."

" _Thanks_." Nero leans in to nudge him, "But seriously, nothing?"

"Nothing."

"A real riot, this one." Griffon says. "Sticks indoors all day studying and reading. If you hadn't gone and fucked up your arm, Kid, he'd still be doing it! Don't get me wrong or nothin', I get it. College is startin' soon so you wanna—"

"That's right, the entrance exams..." Nero realises, staring at V. He's forgotten for a moment in the chaos of his demon sustained injury. When they aren't hacking and slashing away at demons—or serenading them with poetry—they're twenty-something's hoping to live as normal as possible and attend regular education. "Not that you need to study, _Shakespeare_."

It's been a topic for them for some time now, where V's passion for literature and Nero's knack for engineering unique machinery will take them—separately, possibly dissolving their bond over time and interference. Neither can say they've had something quite like this before; they just gravitated to each other despite their plain-in-sight differences. V's like a quite night while Nero's a ferocious storm: calm and unsuspecting but fierce in its own right against the clashing noise of rebellion. 

V waves a hand, "I can study later."

"Just don't blame me if you screw up."

"Not in this lifetime."

Griffon, snickering with a glint of mischief in his eyes, says, “Hey, you’re no V, and since no place is gonna take you, thought I’d let you know we walked past a clinic doing trials on _neanderthals_  like you on our way here. It even pays.”

"Shut up!" Nero chucks his second pillow at him and scowls, Griffon easily evading it and snickering some more. "Just thought _I'd_ let _you_ know they're serving chicken nuggets today and they could always use fresh ingredients!"

"Try it!" Griffon's feathers ruffle fiercely, "I'll claw your other arm off!"

"Fuck you, kentucky fried asshole!"

"Ohhhh!" Griffon flaps his wings, aiming for him. An arm extends to block him, "Shit! Let me at him, V!"

"Don’t tease Nero while he’s injured.” V scolds but there's a notable smile on his otherwise serious face.

“Ohhh, _excuse me_ , I forgot he’s a delicate flower. Yeah, like I give a shit!" Griffon tries diving in again but this time a hand firms wraps around his feet. He pulls and squirms and even tries pecking at V's hand. 

Nero grins, "Yeah, that's right, keep that chicken on a leash before I slice and dice it."

"I'll try," V says. "Though you're _both_ quite a handful."

"It's him!" Nero and Griffon shout accusingly about each other.

Another minute passes before Griffon's released to settle, hacking a scoff Nero's way before perching himself beside the small television mounted on the wall. Closing his eyes, he opts to rest the rage away.

"I'm bored." Nero gave up on the TV, hours of channel surfing leading nowhere but to ridiculous advertisements and overdramatic soap operas. Turned to V, he asks, "Got anything?"

"Just my book."

Nero sighs. "Read to me then."

“Really?”

Nero shrugs, “Can’t do anything else, and you came all this way.”

“If you insist.” V fetches one of his poetry anthologies from the pocket of his long jacket, browsing through the pages for where he left off. “I was born among the bodies. I was hurried forward, and sealed a thin life for myself. I have shortened my name, and walk with a limp—“

Eventually, having recited many poems, Nero falls asleep. Quietly but definitely, worn out from the anaesthesia, the annoying ache in his arm, and lulled by the peacefulness of his best friend's recitals.

“To a belief in beauty through all wrongs,” V turns his head slightly to the head on his shoulder, despite there still being a hoard of pillows behind them—much softer than his bone and flesh. Not that he minds their closeness. It's comforting. “O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand this is me done with DMC fics for now. Until I get another idea that being burnt out doesn't obstruct anyway.
> 
> Imagine trying to discuss some of the greatest poetry out there with V but all you can bring to the table is that you don't like green eggs and ham, lmao. I'd love to see his reaction.
> 
> *The first poem quoted is _'Never Seek to Tell Thy Love'_ by William Blake. The second starts as _'Do Not Speak ill of the Dead'_ by Cecilia Llompart then ends with the third and last being _‘To a Friend’_ by Amy Lowell; I know that, regarding the reveal, fans are mixed about shipping these two. I liked their closeness platonically, so I chose this poem for it's title and how the poem's overall tone feels like a contradicting lovesickness.
> 
> I'm [here](http://ssubby.tumblr.com/) and we can cry over V together ❤ 


End file.
